In the Here and Now

Missing the little miracles in life

Yesterday I had an unexpected insight from an unexpected source. The last few days I’d been having lunch in the garden of my hotel whilst writing.  The waiter and I didn’t quite hit it off. I saw him as a miserable git and gods only know what he thought of me.

Yesterday though, he smiled at me as he gave me the menu. A bit wary I smiled back and carried on writing. He brought me the food and said: “ Always work! No rest!”  “I am a writer” said pompous me. “It’s not work, it’s what I do”. “A writer. No break when you eat lunch?”  he asked as he moved on.

I dug into my food. I gobbled down a few pieces of my paneer, typing furiously when something happened. I slowed down my chewing and begun to really taste the food. The squidgy texture of the cheese, its crispy coating and the sting of the chilli sauce on my tongue and lips became very vivid. Surprised, I closed the computer and focused on the sensations in my mouth. I savoured each mouthful and paused in between, savouring the anticipation of the next one. I looked down on my plate and registered the golden cheese, the mossy green chilli sauce, the vibrant salad.

I was lost in the sensations when I felt a flap and a whoosh of air just above my head. Startled I looked up and as my eyes climbed a shaft of sunlight I hadn’t realised was there, I saw a beautiful red bird landing on the palm tree above me. As energy coursed through me, I looked at the garden around me with new eyes. Tall palm trees, masses of white, purple,  pink and yellow chrysanthemums with flower heads twice my palm, a luscious green manicured lawn, birds of paradise…an oasis in this dusty, dirty city of Kathmandu.  I realised that all I could hear were birds and crickets and yet I was sitting a few hundred meters from a buzzy, cacophonous main Thamel street.

I took a sip of my tea and marvelled at the burst of tangy lime and spicy ginger. I felt the warm path of the drink run through to my belly and I wondered how many miracles of life I miss every day; how often I am wrapped up in my worries, in my head and in multi-tasking that I miss the here and now and the glorious majesty of the little moments in time.

The waiter re-appeared.“ You resting. I am happy ”. This time, I genuinely returned his smile. 

In my Vision Quest circle it was easy. Time slows down and noticing the delicacy of the crickets or the beauty of the grass is as natural as breathing. I felt sad yesterday at how fast I lost the knack of attention to the moment.


The story in the garden is a reminder to me that I need to stay conscious and open to the beauty of life, not even, but especially when I am busy, harassed and otherwise engaged. Give attention to and honour the food, the book, the person, the sun, the moon, the trees, the water...

P.S. Today I pitched up in the garden to finish this blog, feeling a little run down with a sore throat. I said I'd order a little later. The waiter surprised me by bringing me be a hot lemon drink, just like I asked for the first day when he gave me a contemptuous look and told me it wasn't possible. He said: "This is for you".

Buried Alive Overnight

A Ritual of  Death and Re-birth 

I looked down at the gradually deepening oblong shape in the ground and tried to imagine what it would be like to be buried in it. With every shovel of dirt removed I felt my heart sink further and further. I was dreading being buried overnight.  I hear you do a double take. Yes, we were to be buried overnight. In a clearing in the woods eight graves were dug in a circle. We lined them with tarpaulin and covered them with a blanket staked to the ground.

Why? The ritual symbolises death and re-birth. The parts of you that are not useful in your life can be left behind and you arise full of new potential. 

Man! Was I freaked out! I wasn’t quite sure I wanted to do this. I hadn't signed up for it. Didn't  know about it in advance and was rather put out about that. Actually, heck! I definitely didn’t want to do it. I knew there was a high chance I would bail out or jump out in a hurry soon after I got in. I entertained the idea that I might loose my mind and get so traumatised I would spend the rest of my days in an asylum. The fact that we could get out at any point  was only marginally reassuring. The idea of being in a hole in the ground, tightly covered by a blanket, like the lid of a casket, was already taking hold in my worst nightmares and making me hyperventilate. Claustrophobia was setting in.

That afternoon, I hang out by my chosen grave plot, my fear translating itself into a need for control. I knew I had to walk away when I found myself trying to boss my grave digger on how deep, how wide and how fast to dig my grave. I went to hang out in the camp. As the sun begun to descent from its crest in the sky so my dread rose. All the others felt the same, but we talked about it very minimally, as if giving it voice would unleash an unmanagable  terror. A private silent dread was spreading, only shared in half meaningful looks and part wispers. 

At 9pm, with the night well settled,  we set off for our burial ground. I dragged my sleeping bag and thermarest through the forest (well, at least this was a luxury burial!). The forest was dark and quiet. We walked in a straight line on the barely discernible path. The almost -full moon failed to pierce the tree canopy. The forest was still and silent and we walked the walk of the wretched, each lost in our trepidation.

Disbelief at what I was about to subject myself to, anxiety, fear and incredulity all flitted in and out of my mind. We arrived at the grave site. The moon, uninhibited by trees, shone in all its glory, revealing the circle of graves, each with its accompanying mound of displaced soil. The smell was evocative of cemeteries- that eartlhy, ozone rich, musty smell of the gardens of the dead.  The epicentre of the death berths was a pyre waiting to be lit. Nadia, our facilitator, would keep the flames alive and keep vigil over us throughout the night.  She gave us the code word for needing attention during the night, including getting out of the grave:"Room service". I must admit that at the time I failed to register the funny side of that. Standing next to my grave I felt chilled in my heart. I was numb with disbelief and yet I was still going through with it. Yet I sensed an almost imperceptible part of me laughing its head off. It did occur to me for a split second that I might have already lost my mind. Thankfully, it was only the part of me that gets me in improbable situations. The one that eggs me on to “feel the fear and do it anyway”. The part of me that pushes past my self imposed boundaries. It’s the part that encourages me to keep seeking. That slightly in-sane part of me that I am gradually learning to trust.

Nadia blessed each one of us with a shamanic incantation and doused us with smoke from white sage sprigs to purify us. And just like that, the gnawing fear left me. I looked down at my grave and all I saw was  a sleeping place. Ridiculously, it occurred to me that it might be similar to sleeping in a bath tub. Huh? I descended in the hole, snuggled in my sleeping bag, wished the others a good death and re-birth and the blanket was staked over me.

Feeling pleased with myself I looked up. The blanket was barely inches over my face. Claustrophobia tried to assert itself. I cruelly supressed it. It was hot in there. Too hot. I wriggled around trying to take off my socks and fleece. As it became a bit more comfortable, smoke from the fire and incense started drifting in my hole in the ground. I found it hard to breathe. I almost lost it. I willed myself to calm down, to get past the fear. During the blessing we each wished silently for the parts of us that of us needed to die to die overnight. I asked for Fear to die. Fear and Neurosis. So, when barely in my grave, I thought I couldn’t take anymore, I remembered my wish and quelled the fear, banned the neurosis. I wanted both dead and buried. I wanted them to seep into the earth and stay there. I wanted to be re-born the next morning free of fear, free of fanciful neuroses. I reassured myself that nothing lasts forever and that the night would pass.

Then I heard Nadia telling us in a grave tone(no pun intended!) that this night was not for sleeping. We were to play back our lives, from today to as far back  to our birth we could remember. You'd think I'd be  glad for a task to occupy my mind and keep it from freaking out. Pff! I found it impossible to think of my life in a linear way. I started with two years ago...then forced myself to go  back to now... I jumped around 20 years back... I forced myself to come back to now. I was feeling tired and to my amazement drowsy. The harder I tried the less my memory wanted to play. I fought the waves of sleep valiantly...oh, for about 5 minutes... and then thought: “Sod it!” and letting go I felt myself drift off with a smile at the comforting serious snoring coming from my neigbouring living dead.

Some time later I woke up feeling a throbbing in the earth and hearing the constant sonorous beat of a drum. The drum of death. A soothing sound. I wondered vaguely if all the others were still in their graves. Had anyone bolted? I sent them all love and courage and marvelled at how cozy and comfortable this place in the earth felt. I turned on my side and floated off again with the comforting thought and hope that all my dead-my real dead- might have felt as held and comforted in their own graves.

I had vivid dreams in that hole in the ground, in the middle of the forest, surrounded by the mighty Himalaya, illuminated by the silver, almost perfectly formed moon, being serenaded by the eerie beat of not just Nadia’s drum, but also of another much further away in the valley, causing the earth to vibrate. I  have no memory of my dreams and yet I know that they brought me healing. Being held by the Earth felt magical. In a surreal way-or maybe in a very real way- it feels like the Earth's energy seeped into my body, into my mind and deep in my soul and re-set whatever needed to be re-set. Am I free of fear and neurosis? Well, I am free-er. 

At dawn Nadia unstaked our blankets and woke us up: “Welcome to your new life”. Eight creatures peered up from the holes. Timidly, bleary eyed  first, then joyfully, full of amazement and elation. We took our first steps looking at the world in amazement. The young dawn light, the rich colours of the leaves, the dewy grass... We felt the cool morning chill bring a welcoming freshness to our body. We  inhaled the revitalising cool air and feasted our eyes on the newly born sun as it clinged onto the snow- capped mountain peaks. We whooped and hugged each other fiercely, jumping up and down with joy. Then in awed silence we retraced our steps back through the still dark woods, filled with birdsong.

Back at camp we relished our  first cup of tea of the day, our last sustenance for  the next 4 days. The Vision Quest proper was about to start. 

On Forgiving

To forgive or not to forgive? 

I look through the list of questions to consider in preparation for the Vision Quest. One particular question raises such an emotional reaction from me, I have no choice but to tackle it. The first part asks to think about who I would need to forgive. The second part what I need to forgive myself for.

I draw up my list of those I need to forgive. I do this methodically and with trepidation, as I know that dwelling on these questions will unleash an exhausting miasma of hot lava of self-righteousness and an icy fury.

I start big: My mother. That complex relationship of unaccountable and incomprehensible hurts we inflicted on each other in the face of immense love. I blamed her for not loving me enough, for hideously putting a brutal mirror in front of my face; I blamed her for getting ill and disappearing into self-pity, making herself unavailable and destroying my illusion of a happy family.  Strangely I can’t summon the hurt though. I realise that I have finally accepted that she did her best with what resources she had. I know that she loved me and that her own suffering was beyond anything I have ever experienced.  In the absence of the searing knife twists in my gut I realise that I have already forgiven her. I feel a lightness in this realisation. 

Well, ok. Good. Onto my ex-husband and an ex-boyfriend then. Neither loved me as I deserved or needed to. I have dealt with them though, quite unintentionally at some subconscious level, at my last meditation retreat and left lighter and happier than I felt in years.

Those of you that know me are well aware that I am not Mother Theresa. I can hold grudges; I can feel bitterly vengeful and can dwell in the land of righteous indignation for a long, long time.  So, there must be people that I need to forgive.

Let’s see: A jealous, destructive ex-colleague, a threatened boss, the hideous creature from my childhood, hurtful, ungrateful, unappreciative friends and mean relatives. A long list of slights insults and hurts. Intentional and unintentional. Real and perceived.  I start by taking out each incidence and examine it. I bring to mind the person and the grievance...  the blood rushes to my head my heart beats faster I feel hot my hands are fluttering my gut contracts my throat constricts I want to scream to lash out in bubbling anger I want to kick them on the ground to see them writhing in pain my eyes hurt from holding back hot tears I can’t breathe…. I am exhausted…my energy is depleted…I feel bereft and wretched. I stop. Can I forgive them? The very clear answer is NO! My whole being rebels at the idea of forgiving these hideous creatures that made me suffer. That left blemishes in my heart and soul. I don’t care why they did it. I don’t care if they are miserable and wretched themselves. At my most vengeful I wish them harm. At my most sane I banish them into the land where the ice queen reigns. Forgive them? No way. I cling to my self-righteousness. I wallow in its luxuriant, damaging comfort.

 My friend CT says that there is an implicit “you have to forgive” in the question of who to forgive and she questions if that is so. That gets me thinking. Morally we are taught that forgiveness is good. But I can’t buy that.  Under what morality does someone who has been mean, vengeful, hurtful and destructive deserve absolution? The slights and hurts from these people well up and overwhelm me yet again. As the emotional hooks of the past dig into my stomach, as the knives twist in my gut and flood my brain beyond reasonable thought, certainly light years away from peace of mind, I have a startling insight: Forgiving has nothing to do with the person you are forgiving and all to do with yourself. Holding onto grudges and hurt is holding onto negative emotional energy. Letting go of the negative emotional energy frees you, not the person who hurt you.  It frees YOU.

Forgiveness is the self-serving thing to do. The smart thing to do. Clear out emotional crap and hurt, let them go and make space for lightness. Whether the person you are forgiving knows or cares is irrelevant. You are forgiving for yourself. But, still, even realising this, I can’t find it in my heart to let go of some of those hurts.

And what about the second part of the question? What do I need to forgive myself for?  I force myself to visit all the shameful, despicable, uncompassionate, vengeful, thoughtless words and actions purposeful or accidental, justified or undeserved…as many as I can remember. A big job-lot. Some involving loved ones, some strangers, a lot in relation to the people I can’t forgive. My chest heaves. Shame is a heavy burden and it drags me down. Can I forgive myself all the hurt and pain I caused others? Applying the same rules as I do for those I can’t forgive, I give no absolution to myself either, no reprieve.

Yet, beyond the addictive energy of anger and indignation and the seductive power of self-pity and self –flagellation, I still ache for peace of mind and I know it will elude me until I let go of the negative emotional energy bonds that hold me to the past. I need to forgive them and me for me.

I take a deep breath. Perhaps I can start a bit simpler. Maybe I can begin by forgiving myself for not being able to forgive.  The rest will come. 

The Vision Quest: A Poem

The Vision Quest: A poem

Four days to die and be reborn

Four days to cast back and bring forth all that is worth

Four days to dream and create wealth

Four days to find your true self

The world slows down and drags you along

It and You find who you were always meant to be

Earth, Wind, Sun and Moon

Held you gently whilst you mourned all you were and all you did

Absorbed the hurt done onto thee

Drank your tears and set you free

Ride the eagle, soar above

Be the panther, roar afar

Yet keep roots deep, just like me said the tree

Culture the soil for that dream

Water it with love for all that is

Believe the dream and it shall be

Go! Go weave a new reality

Nagarkot, Nepal

3^rd November 2012